


Amends

by IrreWilderer



Series: “L’habit ne fait pas le moine” [4]
Category: The Outer Worlds (Video Game)
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, F/M, Fluff, Smut, Spooning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-30 01:55:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21420277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrreWilderer/pseuds/IrreWilderer
Summary: The Captain has snagged some N-Rapture on Roseway, and, as she's about to enjoy some 'alone time', Vicar Max strolls in.
Relationships: The Captain/Maximillian DeSoto, The Captain/Vicar Maximillian DeSoto
Series: “L’habit ne fait pas le moine” [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1540777
Comments: 13
Kudos: 128





	Amends

Bone-tired, bruised, and bloody—but it was better than passed out, losing body parts, and paying the piper.

The latter could easily have been her lot. In fact, Roseway’s chops-licking critters given their due credit, the headline **should ** have read _ ‘Screaming, Spittin’, and Swallowed By Rapts’, _ but the Unreliable’s captain had accumulated quite the aggregation of capables. Felix went sounding for a scrap, hitting things until he was the last one standing; there was their sawbones, Ellie, whose effectual expertise ensured more than gauze would grace their spilling guts; and, of course, Parvati: putting in the hours, pretending she could cook, and all-around prodding morale towards a positively glowing smile

Thanks to her team, Archie wasn’t dead. Thanks to her own stamp of incompetence, it was pretty surprising.

Gear dislodging from her body as though shedding skin, Archie considered that: the failure; the falling. Standing in the middle of her room, arms out at her sides, her rucksack sank to the floor, and she surmised _ ‘yeah, there’s no way Gladys pays out much for this intel’_. As her pistol-packing holster slid from her hips, Archie wondered _ ‘so what exactly’s next, then? Pilfering? Prostitution?’ _ And, finally, as her jacket jumped ship, jangling to the floor, the woman judged how very screwed she was, and it was, indeed, very quite screwed.

Roseway was a bust. It might help, but nothing she’d learned were hoofing them to Monarch. The gossip just wasn’t that plumb.

Sluffing layers until she was starkers aside from her smalls, Archie took to hand the one tangible bit of worth that gave their toils weight. The squat bottle was pine green, its label promising, and inside sloshed mistifiable heaven. It was three ounces of N-Rapture.

Apparently a bang-up aphrodisiac, Archie had sourced some from a colony scientist. While not processing the stuff on site, the entrepreneurial egghead, Cortes, had still squirreled away a stash, and Captain Quaice commandeered a sample-size in return for discretion.

Deciding on a few hours of ‘me-myself-and-I’ time to distract from money woes, Archie distributed one, two, three sizable spritzes on her wrist. What better way to reconstitute and refreshen one’s flagging spirit than falling asleep on a vibrator? Bestrewing a mite more on her neck, Archie realized she wasn’t going on some high-romance rendezvous with herself, and fathomed that the room needed attention, too. The ceiling received beautifying; Archie sprayed at the floor because, hey, overdo it? Why not.

Having been led to believe the musk-enhanced scent wasn't quite agreeable, she was surprised to find that she liked it. Floral, and sweet, it was a stark contrast to her quarters’ reek of cigarette smoke vaguely smothering a pharmacy's amount of ointments.

Swaying just a bit, deluging her lungs in the lusty clouds, Archie sashayed to her cot, ready to put the ‘cum’ in ‘forgetting one’s complete and exhaustive failures’.

That’s when Vicar Max strolled in.

“Ah. Captain.” Hands clasped behind his back, his expression was suffused with well-disposed sunshine. “There you are. I’d heard you’d returned.”

Archie’s eyes popped. Being caught with her pants down—and her shirt shucked, and her smalls not concealing much—wasn’t strictly embarrassing, but she ostensed that the musky smell would betray her. Added to that she was rather on Max’s shit list, and there seemed a recipe for criticism she weren’t eager for.

“Yep. Got back eh-oh-kay. Alright, even. Just... peachy-keen.” Archie’s lips pressed into a tight, troubled line. “So thanks for checking in.”

Owing to a tiff and a tough call, Max hadn’t joined the team on Roseway.

The captain and the vicar been in a fight (irreconcilable differences). It had lasted for days (thank-you, Max’s stamina). It was deemed that the man’s remaining on board would make him feel better, meanwhile Archie wouldn’t be double-guessing every damn decision. A crewmember short though they’d be in the Roseway wilds, it appeared a positive compromise.

Things worked out. No one kicked it. Archie (finally) stopped looking for him after day 1, at which point her meandering monologue muted its griping about marauders deserving clemency. With Max gone, Archie felt freer with her actions; less judged; stronger in her convictions to conserve her bullets for pity’s sake. However, she’d also felt less protected. Felix’s trigger-finger seemed an adequate trade, but Max had been with her longer; she _ knew _ him. Trusting him to protect her as much as lecture her, that added-up to a **lot **of trust.

Of course, Archie _ also _would’ve trusted him to be a bit more all-and-all suspicious of her present, basic nakedness, but he waltzed over and leaned against her desk like nothing; like this was par for the Unreliable’s ridiculous course. 

“How fared your fact-finding mission?” he asked.

Sitting up, crossing her legs over the cot’s side, Archie aimed for casual.

“Oh, you know,” she dismissed nonchalantly. “A corporate town left swinging in the breeze; their private business hanging out just as badly. We found illegal arms designs; some, uh, chemical… stuff.” Realizing how cheap her lies were, Archie sighed, rubbing hard at her eyes. “Truthfully? I’m considering touching down in Cascadia. Gladys is beggin’ too much for the Stellar Bay navkey, and bits to boarst what we got gossip-wise ain’t enough for her.”

“When you deal with criminals, what do you expect?” Max’s smile was smug, not cruel. “Although Miss Culkelly may seem kindly, at the heart of it, she is but a smuggler.”

Agreeing silently, the woman continued. “I talked to Phineus on the comm—as much as he **would **talk to me, in any case. He ain’t got the bits to cough-up, neither. And I’m not sure how many Groundbreaker odd-jobs are left. Not with big pay-outs, leastwise.” Pulling herself to her feet, Archie fumbled at a cigarette pack on her desk, trading expressions with the man leaning on her furniture. “At least Ellie is keen on providing for her own self. Stocked the medbay out of pocket, too. Leastways, with stuff we didn’t have.” Taking a drag, she expelled a long track of smoke alongside her trailing worries. ”But, now, with more mouths to feed...”

“You could always put Mr. Millstone back where he belongs.”

Snorting, Archie scanned him skeptically. “The curb? But who’d you confabulate on toss-ball scores with?”

Max appeared genuinely interested in the answer to this quandary. According to the light in his eyes that did not dim with understanding, no solution came to him. He seemed to revisit the words; to calculate and consider.

Brow arched; mouth twitching at a smile: the vicar’s interest clearly had a secondary source; another fount of inspiration unconcerned with either Felix or sports. Watching Archie, Max read something long and complicated on her face. It had the man reaching for his collar and tugging, throat cleared by a few furious _ ah-hms _. There was the looming sense of wrangling with his poise; wishing to say something, but not sure what. Both had him agitating greatly.

Confused by this until she wasn’t, Archie’s stomach sank.

“You might be wanting to toddle off, vicar,” the woman suggested, balancing her cigarette on the ashray. She frowned; she hunched forward; she feigned pains associated with bad posture. “After our last few days, I’m not planning on being swell company.”

“No?” Max, still leaning on the desk beside her and oh-so close, glanced at her lips. “Why is that?”

“Well—”Archie rubbed at her shoulder—”Got dings from marauder fire, rashes from rapt spit, and bruises from bunking on the ground. Quite frankly, I aim to be cranky.”

“So what you’re suggesting is… things go horribly awry when I’m not around.” Real pleased by that—his smile was positively pompous—Max glanced away for a second, rallying sentiments that were a lot softer when he met her eyes again. “I apologize for my absence during the mission. Regardless of your ‘giving me the day off’, as it were, I should have accompanied you.”

Rather than let this candor roll off her, as was her way, Archie shook her head. “Oh, no. Nuh-uh. Vicar, you were steamed at my gun-shunning but a few days ago, and don’t you go changing. I almost get you hole-riddled? That’s a reason to be angry.”

“Yes, but you are my captain. That implies that I do certain things to, uh—”Max cleared his throat again—”I mean _ for _you.”

Cautiously, his prying eye attempted to contradistinguish if she’d caught that. Or, if the coy creeping deepening his crows feet was anything to go by, he _ hoped _she’d caught that.

Wresting from her desk, Archie herded the man for the door, palms pushing at his strong, straight, extremely sturdy shoulders. 

“You get, vicar. If you’re aquittin’ me of letting your ass get shot up, then I say either you need a drink, or I need a drink, but, regardless, you need to get to gettin’.”

At the door about to give way to hydraulics hissing and opening, Max turned to face Archie. Her hands did not shift as he did so. By providence, they rested flat on his chest, appreciating the softness and luxury of his cassock. Preoccupied by each other’s ready expressions, neither of them appeared to move, and yet they pressed closer, and closer, until, finally, their stomachs, too, were flush. There was an impression—a memory—of his hands going to her waist, but it was just that: a ghost; they’d always been there, she thought.

The woman could smell the standard scents of him: the Verity's Breath Inhalant washing his lips with spearmint; the skin salve leaving a creamy cleanness to his air. Swallowing, Archie trembled to look at his mouth, realizing how dry her own had become. Nothing curved like those lips. They were beautiful; they brought exaggerated accents of bliss to his happiness, they made his melancholy a terrible glower, and in anger—Law, in anger, those lips were positively dangerous.

Archie hummed, a lip pinched between her teeth as she stared. She loved the lines there—the subtle wrinkles that betrayed his age. They were like a privilege for those he let only so close, and, to Archie, it seemed that was only her; that only she was ever close enough to taste his breath; to feel it on her cheek; to see it hitch in his throat as Max inhaled harder with every second, his mouth set to devour her after his eyes were finished...

_ Oh, _ ** _shit_**_. _

Archie wrenched herself away, forcing distance between them. The room in which they were panting together was about ten degrees more piping than it ought. Archie was sweating, a slight sheen felt on her cheeks and breast, and when had that even _ started _?

“It’s musk!” she blurted out. “Rapt musk! That’s why you’re—” Archie gestured wildly about the vicar. “Whatever notions you’re entertaining, vicar, it’s not ‘cuz you’re getting to forgiving me. I procured some from this chemist planet-side, and I used it. I sprayed it just… _ everywhere _. Was going to relax, you know—enjoy myself—but, uh, you gotta go.” Fanning herself, she laughed softly. “You really gotta go. You—oh, Law...”

A dark drumming was swelling in her belly. It wasn’t lust, yet, but that’s where it was aiming. Watching Max breeze closer, stand over her, hands stiff and thumbs twitching with intent, it was too much. It was too much knowing she’d unwittingly drugged the man; clouded his judgement; stolen his discretion. He walked closer still, eager to do away with any space between them, and she stumbled backwards, pressing up against the wall._ Law, no—please no. Don’t want me because of this. Don’t absolve me for some chemicals. Don’t hate me when it’s done. _

Then the room felt quiet.

Max stole closer, cupping her cheek. “I thought of you.” His thumb brushed carefully at her skin. “While you were off the ship, I thought of you.”

Archie admitted, “I thought of you, too.”

Disrobing fueled by desperation was harder than it looked. Archie’s hands went for Max’s collar while his fingers fumbled with her underwear, their arms becoming a clacking commotion. As Archie grabbed the bottom of Max’s cossack and began pulling it up his body, he intended to deal with her bra, and their combined efforts were at odds. At last, however, they were naked, running their hands over each other, smiling; half-laughing.

“Bed,” Archie suggested, and Max agreed “bed.” Hurrying to it, the woman knelt on the mattress, planting her knees the width of her shoulders apart. The cot’s weight shifted as Max did the same behind her, his thighs cradled between her legs. Aligning herself, Archie sank back slowly upon the vicar’s member, moaning as his cockhead rolled through her. Nothing could have so met her needs as this: him filling her; stretching her; smothering her aching want. As she adjusted her position, hips grinding and back arching, Max clung to her waist, trying to hold on, perhaps, to that first moment of hot, excruciating succor.

_ “Law.” _ Archie was humming. At her breasts, thighs; her throbbing cunt as she slid up and down, setting to a slow, rhythmic bobbing. Archie touched over Max’s waist-settled hands and then her palms slid further, parting her ass, mewling to feel so exposed. The sensitive nerves of her hole were tortured with this spreading; begging to be wriggled at, and blinding her with need as she bucked harder.

Their skin slapped. Archie rode him quickly, sighing as her pussy swallowed him, her sounds chirping and determined. Bouncing on his lap had her legs quaking with something less lovely than lust, however. Flagging, moaning, hands gripping his, Archie leaned back against his chest, allowing herself a rest as her skin itched with sweat and his smoldered. Max’s arms encircled her; his brow rested on her shoulder, and then the vicar set to rolling his hips, lashing static through her core.

Deep inside, however, Max’s generous length was hammering at, rather than soothing, something dark and abrupt in her. Archie winced, and twitched, and flinched. Lifting herself up on her tired legs again, Max thought it an invitation, and began pumping with greater freedom. But, sensing her discomfort, he stilled, and, holding her at her hips, asked, “What is it?”

Archie glanced over her shoulder. Sweat on his cheeks; skin flushed. And she’d never seen his hair this disorderly. Maximillian DeSoto looked how she felt: not senseless with need, but driven by it; swayed by it; wanting to be taken by it, but still enjoying the time it was taking to get there. Max looked how she felt, patient but expecting, and he looked about as gorgeous as she felt as she saw the pure, real concern in his eyes over her hesitance.

“It—you’re too long, I think,” Archie explained. ”It’s starting to hurt like this.”

Max maneuvered them to laying on the bed on their sides, his hands all over her until he had Archie’s back nestled against him. The vicar’s cock went from prodding between her ass cheeks to rubbing through her folds, his head slicking over her entrance. Forward and back, he peeled across her pussy, working her up, bringing her to new levels of hot, bothered, and sodden, until, finally, his member was nudging itself deeper, a careful inch at a time.

_ “Max.” _

Archie spread her legs, resting one atop his. Head tossed back in dreamy delirium, she breathed in helpless, happy gasps as the vicar pumped slow, slow; intoxicatingly slow. A constant state of contentment flooded through her; everything in her body was satisfied, exhilarated, _ perfect _, until suddenly she was jolting forward, held in place by an arm around her chest.

_ “Fuck—!” _

Max's fore and middle finger had started swirling frenzy across her clit. Overcome—needing to cling to something so as not to shatter—Archie latched onto the arm that had her scrambling at his skin, until, finally, it became too much, and her body went rigid. Legs shaking, eyes wrenched, it was coming: as Max thrust quick and circled her pearl quicker, her orgasm swelled, crested, and spilled in almost the same second, leaving her whining and limp before long.

It was not immediate that Max joined her in completion. His hands roamed, palms finding pleasure in cupping her breasts, his thumb brushing at her nipple. As Archie was about to suggest a change of position, Max’s grunting and grasping grew to a recognizable rhythm, and then it was over: the man was a serene silence as he came, his hands twitching on her skin just a little.

Five minutes later, they still lay there: Max’s arms around her, Archie enjoying it. 

“No wonder it’s in demand in Byzantium.”

After a thick swallow, Max’s voice was heavy with sleepiness. “How much did you pay?”

“I got it for free.” Archie tapped at his arm with a fidgeting finger. “Worked a deal with a guy mining for musk. We kept some of the raw stuff, actually. I’m hoping to sell it on.”

By his hesitation—and what came out his mouth—the vicar had, apparently, been torn between his trade-mark, short-fused cynicism, and a slightly kinder, gentler honesty. 

“I _ am _sorry. For before. Regardless of... feelings elicited by rapt musk, I was sincere in my apology.” A gruff sigh eluded to Max’s annoyance, but it was kept to a simmer. “Your mistaken Philosophist passivism aside, I still wish you were more comfortable with a firearm. When I’m not around, I’m not sure I can count on your survival.”

Archie snorted under her breath. “That’s a new tactic.”

“The Plan unfolds as the Plan unfolds. It may be that you’re not meant to take to gun-slinging so easily. But it stands to reason that you **will **need to toughen up. What you said before—about touching down outside Stellar Bay. That…”

“Is going to require some smartin’ thick skin—I know.” Archie huddled down into his arms, enjoying the warmth of him. “But unless we all find jobs on the Groundbreaker and pool our paychecks, we’re not going to be able to afford to get there. Not legitimately.”

The vicar smiled into her hair. “Because, of course, our means of obtaining Miss Culkelly’s navkey have been completely above-board so far.”

Eyes closed, thoughts collecting, Archie was too distracted to appreciate his sarcasm. “If it were just me, I’d… But I promised enough people I’d get to that damned planet.” Then, a light went on. It was bright, beacon-esque, and blazing from another (hypothetical) ship. “‘course, it’s not like the Groundbreaker is cut off from the rest of the galaxy, right? Likely we could find another shuttle headed for Monarch. A SubLight transport, maybe. For the right fee, goes without saying, but still!"

“You’re rambling about what, exactly?”

Shuffling to her other side, Archie’s excited eyes met his. She propped herself up on her arm. “We could get you on a SubLight transpo. So you can find your translator.”

Frowning, the vicar’s brow crumpled skeptically. “My problems are not our only driving-force towards Monarch, captain. That said, I… will stay with the crew, I think. You have helped me enough that I’ve accumulated a debt, and I wish to repay it.”

“But when we get to Fallbrook?” Archie prompted knowingly.

“We’ll see,” Max conceded.

Availing themselves of every inch of bed, they were not left with much wiggle-room. Facing Max so very closely, it also brought Archie face-to-face with the fact that the vicar hadn’t yet dressed and gone on his way, and that was new. Not unwelcomed—she’d never kick him out—but it was certainly unexpected. Especially when considering their last conversation, today notwithstanding, had been a bit of a screech-for-all.

Either they were getting worse at fighting, or they were getting better at apologizing. With a smile, she deemed both options dandy-fine.

“What did you do while we were ground-side?” Archie asked, leaning into the pillow contentedly.

“Meditated, mostly,” Max answered. “Finished _ “Of Equity and Equations” _ yet again. No new insights, but the read is always fascinating.”

Charmed by his spark of enthusiasm, a smiling Archie looked down. It was the first time she’d gotten around to giving his chest a good ogle, and the woman was glad to see the purples, reds, and blues of his bruise had softened greatly.

“This got better.” She touched at it carefully, as though she hadn’t been pressing into it thoughtlessly in her wild passion only some minutes ago.

“Yes. Auntie Cleo’s Metallisys Gel does wonders for the skin.” Smoothing a hand through her hair, Max tucked strands of mousy brown behind her ear. His fingers lingered on her cheek before retracting. “I noticed you’re a little worse for wear.”

Archie shrugged acceptingly at the statement’s extreme validity. “Like I said afore: marauders, rapts; catching shut-eye on the ground. None too good for the beauty sleep.”

Brow crooked, the vicar asked, with quiet incredulity, “but how much of that do you really need?”

_Huh_. _Too much leaning towards complimenting, there._ Out his mouth before he realized, Max’s eyes rounded as though caught, and Archie’s eyes did the same in catching. It had been so… so dismissive; so suspicious. As though he didn’t think she actually needed...

“I imagine you’ll be wanting some sleep before we dock at the Groundbreaker,” Max surmised, sitting up. Archie scootched out of his way, and let him start with his clothing.

“Oh, yeah. Bone-tired now.” Archie snorted, deciding on a victory-cigarette for her humorous triumph.

She watched him dress, figuring on no need for forcing conversation. As he was about to leave—having given her a firm, parting nod—Archie spoke up, however.

“I’m sorry for, you know, getting you liquored on animal love-juice. Weren’t my intent, vicar.”

Smiling, Max headed for the door. “Enjoy your rest, captain,”

Slipping on some clean underwear for sleeping in, Archie effulgently reached for the pine-green bottle of N-Rapture. Eyes appreciating the pretty font on the label, her mind meticulated on its influences. Then, she noticed something at the corner. Pulling the label clean away without hindrance, she saw another label, a _ true _ label, expounding the proficient properties of a perfume decidedly **not **enhanced with rapt musk.

Archie stared. Her mouth dropped open. She thought of the overpowering force that had drawn her and vicar together. The inability to keep away; how her thoughts had swam with him. She thought of these things and realized, fumingly, 

“That bastard cheated me! Cortes hoodwinked me!” 

Tearing into a pack of cigarettes, Archie stuffed one angrily between her lips.


End file.
